


Safety Mechanism

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as in putting on some patches not as in undoing), F/F, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loyalty, M/M, fixing the apocalypse, hug jon sims 2k20, no character death but some permanent changes, the first bit of this is my semi-serious prediction for the actual end of the series, the god of the apocalypse deserves kitty snuggles, the rest is emotional catharsis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: There's no way to undo the apocalypse, but the right person might be able to slow it down for a while.He won't do it alone.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 32
Kudos: 143





	Safety Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to whynotfly for the title suggestion (which I took in a slightly different direction) and twodrunkencelestials for the beta; all errors are my own, and due to me scrambling to finish this less than twelve hours before it gets thoroughly jossed.

Martin had hoped to never find himself back here, in the center of the Panopticon, staring at the withered husk of Jonah Magnus, but here he is. He's not entirely surprised to find that the primary emotion he feels toward the man is irritation. Not all that dissimilar from the last time, really.

He's the only one, though; Jon is clutching his hand so tightly his knuckles have gone pale and bloodless and now that he pays attention, Martin can hear his breathing, tight and a little too fast. Martin squeezes his hand in return, trying to draw his attention before he starts hyperventilating, but Jon only has eyes for Jonah. He can't – he can't blame him, honestly.

A shadow flickers in the corner of his eye and Martin only doesn't jump because he's gotten so used to subtle movements and threatening noises over the past year that he doesn't think he'll ever startle again. The chamber is eerily silent, the shadows and monsters and mannequins and spiders that prowl the tunnels outside kept at bay by the weight of the Eye's constant attention, funneled through the fragile bundle of skin and bones and eyes that is all that remains of the man who broke the world for his own ambition.

He looks terrified, at least. That's something.

"Are you sure we can't just leave him here?" Martin mutters, and Jon shakes his head jerkily.

"He won't last forever," Jon says, his voice hoarse and raw after their treacherous journey through the remains of Millbank Prison. "And I – I don't know how long, he's keeping their attention, and we can't risk." He swallows hard. They've been through all this before, over and over. It's the only answer, the only thing that keeps the world from being wholly torn apart ("at least until someone comes up with something better," Basira kept saying, as if Jon weren't the embodiment of all knowledge and knows exactly how far hope will stretch any more). It doesn't mean he has to like it.

"You can still go, though," Jon says, and they've been through this one too.

Martin is gentle, but firm. "You promised."

He'd cried the first time he said it, choking on tears he'd genuinely thought he'd run out of long before. _You promised you wouldn't leave me alone again._ Jon had kept trying to insist that _he_ was the one who was going to be alone, as if there was a difference; as if, if there were, that would _help_.

Martin isn't going anywhere, and Jon is just going to have to learn to live with it. They'll have plenty of time.

They approach Jonah together, and Martin tries to keep his eyes focused on those hollow, empty eye sockets, but when the eyes flicker open across every inch of exposed skin Martin can't help but look back. They dart back and forth, as though looking for something (an escape, maybe?) but one of them, a bright, icy blue, stares directly back at Martin. He forces himself to ignore it; there's no benefit in getting into a staring contest now, and he won't do anything that risks giving Jonah even an ounce of satisfaction.

It doesn't really take two of them to lift Jonah from the seat at the center of the Panopticon; even Jon could probably have done it by himself. But Martin's done letting Jon do terrible things by himself, and besides, it means he doesn't have to acknowledge the incredible tenderness with which Jon lays his hands on the monster who spent so many years torturing him. He understands, but he doesn't have to like it.

Jonah is dead before they lay him on the ground, and he's dust only moments after. It's terribly anticlimactic, after everything, which Martin appreciates for a split second before the silence breaks and the room echoes with a hollow growl. Is it a Hunter, a creature of the Dark, an arm of the Spiral rushing toward them? Does it matter?

And suddenly there's nothing left to do, nothing between them and the last unavoidable decision. He's frozen shock-still, all his detached annoyance dissolving in a wave of fear and grief and anger that he had thought he'd already gotten under control, and it's Jon's last seconds of freedom and Martin can't do anything.

Jon turns and cups Martin's face in his hands, as easily as he's done a hundred times before, as if this won't be the last time, and Martin can't see the look on his face through his unexpected tears but that's all right, it's etched into his soul already; it's the thing that saved him. Jon pulls him down and presses their mouths together, less a kiss than a desperate grasp for more contact, and Martin breathes Jon's breath for much too short a moment before he pulls away.

"Right," Jon says, that tone of voice he gets before he does something really stupid. "Right." And he drops himself unceremoniously into the seat at the center of the Panopticon.

* * *

In later days the image of that moment will come to him when he least expects it, the way Jon's body went rigid and his face twisted in pain and Martin had been suddenly, horribly convinced that they'd gotten it wrong, that this was going to kill him after all and now there was nothing at all he could do; all that and the terrible knowledge that his paralyzing fear only made the thing they were fighting worse. It seemed to be hours before Jon finally drew another breath and Martin collapsed at his side, half in his lap, struggling for breath himself.

Almost the same thing happens several times a day, but the memory of that first time is still the worst.

It comes in waves, unpredictable but never really distant. Sometimes Jon can sit almost in comfort, talk almost easily. (It reminds him, Martin realizes with a wave of guilty nostalgia, of how he was in the time after the worm attack, when they were all exhausted and afraid but still trying to pretend they could be normal.) Jon struggles to explain it when Martin asks what it's like. It's not quite that he's standing against all the fear that used to suffuse the world, he says, and not exactly that he's experiencing it instead. Privately Martin thinks of it as a handful of Spartans holding back the entire Persian army, and tries not to remember the end of that particular story.

The effects of his struggles, however, Jon is much clearer about.

It's still amazing to him how it's possible to get used to anything with enough repetition. The Panopticon is hardly the most comforting of homes, but he settles in anyway, piling blankets and cushions filched from the Archives on their way down until he has something resembling a comfortable place to sleep. Which seems unfair, all things considered, so after a few days (hours? weeks? time still has no meaning) of indecision he tucks one of the cushions behind Jon's head, just a little something between him and the unforgiving stone of Jonah Magnus's throne. In his times of coherence, Jon doesn't mention it, which is a relief. Martin doesn't want to argue about it.

It takes a long time for Martin to be comfortable leaving Jon's side to scavenge for supplies in what remains of the Institute. He knows perfectly well that there's nothing he can do, that his presence doesn't make the knowledge of all the terrible truths of the universe any less awful, but – well. He left Jon alone for too long once before, and look where that got them.

"It seems to be getting better, at least?" he suggests hopefully, after some indeterminate amount of time that could have been a week and could have been six months.

Jon laughs without humor. "No, it – it's waiting to come back. Until I feel safe. That's how they work."

And that's nearly enough to make Martin regret his insistence on staying, because if that's how they work, if feeling safe makes it _worse_ – but Jon squeezes his hand and says softly, "I'm glad you're here, in between, though." So that's – well, it's not all right, but it's at least not worse.

But eventually even sitting and watching Jon suffer to filter and dilute all the fear and dread that used to consume the world becomes boring. Not just painful to watch but actively boring in a genuinely horrifying way (though Jon, when Martin finally admits it, laughs weakly and says it's getting pretty boring on his end, too. Martin doesn't quite believe it, but it's kind of him). In the face of that, it's actually easier to venture back into the tunnels, to experience a little fear of his own – the purely natural kind that comes from knowing that there's something out there that would eat you if it could, and not knowing what it is.

It doesn't mean he's any less terrified on the day that, like so many others, Jon is sitting staring wide-eyed at something Martin is very glad he can't see when he hears the distinct rattling sound of something tripping one of the rudimentary traps he's set over all the entrances to the Panopticon chamber. He hates to leave Jon like this, hates the thought of him waking up alone, but he looks so _vulnerable_ too when he's wrapped up in nightmares, and he can't stand the thought of something taking him unawares either. So Martin scribbles a brief note – _Back soon, love you ❤_ – and tucks it under Jon's hand where it's clenched on the armrest of the Watcher's Throne, and he goes to see what it is.

He's gotten very good at moving silently; it's a survival skill in this new world, never to let something know exactly where you are. It doesn't always help, as Jon has explained in excruciating detail, since many of the things that now lurk in the dark don't rely on sight or sound at all, but it certainly makes Martin feel better. Still, the smell of wet dog and churned earth as he approaches the entryway lets him know that this is one of those cases where his best efforts won't mean much. _You can't out-sneak a Hunter._ He regrets, suddenly, not leaving more detail in that note; he hadn't wanted Jon to worry, but what else will he do when Martin never comes back?

But when he peers carefully around a stone pillar at the doorway, instead of setting off a frantic chase leading to a bloody end, he sees the Hunter standing shock-still, head tilted back to look at the chair at the center of the Panopticon itself, although Martin knows you can't see its occupant from here.

"Daisy?" he says, startled.

Daisy looks down at him, and her eyes are lupine-blue for a second before she smiles at him, and then she looks like the kind of person who might actually bully Jon into listening to _The Archers_ , although he's never really quite believed that.

"So," she says without preamble. "He did it, then."

Martin shrugs. "I mean–yeah. Once he figured it out, do you really think he was ever going to do anything else?"

Daisy huffs out a silent laugh and shakes her head. Then she glances back up at the Panopticon again, and Martin would almost swear that she looks – nervous. "Is he still..." her fingers twitch as she trails off, as if there's a gesture she'd like to make but doesn't remember how. "Is he still _him_?"

"Most of the time," Martin says, swallowing down the rush of remembered fear from when he was waiting for an answer to that question himself. "All the time, I guess, he just doesn't – he's not always _here_ , I guess." Daisy nods, jaw set hard against whatever emotion she's fighting with. He doesn't – Martin's never been _friends_ with Daisy, not like Jon was, mostly only knew her when she was a cop doing everything she could to put Jon in prison or worse, but he's just told her that Jon is okay and she looks like she's about to cry. "Would you–would you like to come up?"

He feels like an idiot as soon as he says it, like he's asking her up for tea or something, but she nods curtly and so Martin shows her the way to the wrought-iron staircase and the pavilion at the center of the world.

He does end up making tea, in the end, because it's what he does when he's uncomfortable and this is possibly the most uncomfortable he's been since the world ended. They make what passes for small talk these days – How's Basira (Daisy hasn't seen her in a while; still hunting, still keeping it under control), how's the weather (giant eyeball in the sky still unblinking, though there are clouds now, and no one knows what that means). Eventually, thankfully, Jon blinks and starts to come back to himself, and Martin and Daisy both fall silent to wait for him.

Jon's eyes go wide when he sees Daisy sitting cross-legged at Martin's side, though frankly that's hardly notable any more. Martin hands him his usual cup of tea – he always complains that his throat feels strange when he wakes up, although Martin assures him he hasn't actually been screaming – and he wraps long fingers around it like it's an anchor.

"Sims," Daisy says.

"Daisy," Jon says, and he sounds so relieved, so disbelieving and _happy_ , that for a moment Martin's jealous. Then he shuts it down, because if there's anyone in the world who deserves every single good thing that's left in it, it's Jon.

He goes for a walk instead, gives them a little privacy. Jon would insist he doesn't need to, but Martin knows what it's like to desperately hope your friends will like each other when they finally meet, and Jon doesn't need anything else to be stressed about. He resets the trap that Daisy tripped when she came in, making a mental note to thank her for the warning, because he can't imagine it was good enough that she didn't see it.

When he gets back to the tower that he's starting to think of as home, he pauses on the stairs just before the pavilion, to see if they're talking about anything he doesn't want to interrupt.

"Is it," he hears Jon ask nervously, worrying at the question he clearly isn't sure he actually wants to ask. "What is – what is it _like_ , outside?"

"You don't know?" Daisy asks, teasing.

"If it's not awful, I don't know much about it," Jon answers dryly. "Especially if it's about what people think."

Daisy hums thoughtfully. "Well, it is still pretty awful. But it's less...chaotic than it used to be, I guess. A little more possible to do something other than just suffer." She pauses. "People have someone to blame now, which makes most people feel better."

Martin winces. Jon had suspected that would be a side effect of this, that people would begin to see him in their nightmares again (and possibly out of them, Martin had thought, remembering the woman from the coffee shop). Seems he was right.

"Oh," Jon says, very small, before clearing his throat. "Well, it can't be helped, I suppose," he says, as if it doesn't bother him. "If it helps..."

Martin chooses that moment to come the rest of the way up the stairs, and Jon's face lights up when he sees him, as usual. Martin doesn't try to resist the urge to lean over the back of the chair to kiss the top of Jon's head. "Everything secure?" Jon asks, teasing him about his obsession with the door traps, as if they hadn't just proved useful.

"All back to normal," Martin says primly. Daisy rolls her eyes at them, and Jon grins, and for a moment, it really does feel normal.

* * *

Basira turns up a few days later. She won't admit to following Daisy, and Daisy won't admit to letting her, though that's clearly what's happened. Jon is coherent when she arrives, thankfully. They look at each other for a long time without speaking, Jon with that stubborn tilt to his chin that means he's waiting to be insulted, but in the end Basira just shakes her head. "I should have guessed you'd think of something like this. Still putting yourself at the center of everything."

"No one else was going to do it," Jon protests.

"No one else _could_ have done it," Martin says firmly, and Basira doesn't exactly shrug but she gives the impression of it anyway.

"She could at least apologize," Martin grumbles when Basira and Daisy have gone off to find a place for her to make camp. She might not need sleep, she tells them, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want a place of her own, with a little privacy.

Jon closes his eyes wearily and leans his head against Martin's side. "She won't," he says with that infuriating confidence, even though he's said over and over again that he can't predict the future.

She doesn't, though, not then and not in the time that follows, though they all settle into a surprisingly domestic routine. Daisy regularly prowls the tunnels, looking for the things that have gotten lost in there while trying to find the source of power; Jon and Basira talk endlessly in circles about the changes that have rippled out into the world since he took his position here. And Martin – well, Martin makes tea, and checks the door traps, and sits leaning against Jon's legs and makes the occasional interjection to their debates that makes Basira look at him like one of the stone carvings had decided to speak and Jon comb his fingers through Martin's hair with pride. It's...not all that different than what he was doing before they arrived, actually. And yet it's completely different, because he's not alone.

It feels like a betrayal to think it, because he made Jon promise not to leave him alone and he's kept that promise, as much as he can, but –

He tries not to think about it too much.

* * *

They're deep in a surprisingly heated discussion of the relative merits of BBC4 radio programming when Daisy freezes, just seconds before the clatter and crash of another of the door traps echoes throughout the Panopticon chamber. Jon winces; he's gotten more sensitive to loud noises, Martin's noticed, though he doesn't know if that's an effect of the Panopticon itself or just exhaustion.

"Ow!" someone says, almost as loud.

Basira and Martin both call out at the same time. "Melanie?"

"This place is a nightmare, and that is _not_ a pun!" she shouts back.

She's with Georgie, of course, who hangs back while Melanie hugs them both furiously (and then, after a moment's hesitation, Daisy too, who looks startled but hugs back). She feels her way down the carvings of the throne to Jon's shoulder, which she squeezes hard. "Nice chair," she says. "Fancier than your old one."

"Not nearly as comfortable," Jon grumbles, and Melanie laughs and half-drapes herself on his shoulder.

"Jesus, you're not wrong," she says, wriggling against the carvings to try to find a comfortable place to lean. "I'm really, really glad I can't see what those are supposed to be, aren't I?"

"Definitely," Basira confirms. Martin does his best not to glower, but from the amused look Georgie's giving him, he's not doing very well.

"You live down here now, too?" she asks shaking her head. "What did I tell you about setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm?"

Martin had the very best of intentions, really, but he can't stop himself snapping back, "I'm sorry for thinking about _the fate of the world_ , but–"

Georgie cuts him off with a hug of her own. "Thank you," she says into his shoulder, and he hugs her back and says, baffled, "You're welcome?"

She laughs a little when she lets go. "Sorry I was such a bitch about it last time," she says, her tone too light and therefore painfully sincere. "I mean, I'm not going to say that I was _wrong_ , just..." She's clearly having trouble finding the words.

"Me too," Martin says, which is true enough. "...A lot's changed since then."

"Hasn't it just," Georgie says, with that same dry tone that Jon gets sometimes, and then Melanie's calling her over to "say hello to the man at least, Georgie, Christ."

"Hello," Georgie says cheerfully, and she dumps her bag in Jon's lap. It _wriggles_ , which is horrifying for a whole three seconds, and then it meows, and okay, even Martin can't manage to be jealous of the delight on Jon's face, the Admiral really is adorable.

Martin feels out of sorts for days after they arrive; it takes him a while to realize that he feels like he's still waiting, and a while longer to realize that the person he's waiting for is Tim. He lets himself sit down and have a good cry after that, leaning against Melanie's bony shoulder because Jon is wrapped up in the world again and besides, the last thing he needs is Martin having an emotional breakdown two years too late. By the time Jon's back with them, though, he's telling stories about the Tim the others had never really gotten a chance to know; and later, when the girls have gone back to their own scattered encampments, Jon tells him a few more, including one that he says he's almost certain also features the real Sasha. It's the first time Martin has seen Jon cry since the end of the world, real, fat tears that roll down his cheeks. Martin kisses them away and falls asleep with his head in Jon's lap, which he can't bring himself to regret in spite of the way his back protests when he wakes.

It's strange having so many people in a place that was so clearly only ever meant for one. Instead of the ominous silence that had seemed so natural when they first arrived, there's a constant low buzz of activity: Daisy getting ready to go on her rounds, or coming back; Basira quizzing someone about the territory they'd traveled through to get here; Georgie arguing with the Admiral about what is or isn't edible; Melanie bickering with anyone in proximity. He doesn't want to get used to it; he knows it won't last for long. Basira just isn't the kind of person who'll stay in hiding forever, and Melanie is already getting restless. Eventually it will be just the two of them again. But just for now – and although there's more time than there used to be, it's still pretty broken, and now is just about all there is – it feels...

"It's nice, isn't it," Jon says quietly from where his head leans softly on Martin's arm. "Seeing everyone again."

"Yeah," Martin says, fighting down sudden tears. Then he nudges Jon fondly. "Told you I wouldn't let you sit in here all alone."

Jon smiles and takes Martin's hand in his. It's more and more of a struggle for him to move, but he hasn't stopped trying. "I knew you wouldn't," he says, and he holds on tight.


End file.
